Harmonious
by musicprincess1990
Summary: Hermione Granger is a struggling single mother, in desperate need of a job. When she is hired as the nanny for Harry Potter's two rambunctious children, she is certain she can handle it. But the more time she spends with the broken family, the more she begins to realize she needs them as much as they need her. AU non-magical, H/Hr, please read and review!
1. Hired

Hermione swallowed thickly as she peered through the foreboding cast-iron gate. The house on the other side was enormous—which, to be honest, wasn't all that surprising. People with little or no money didn't hire nannies. Hermione knew that better than anyone. But the house at which she now gazed was three stories high, with more windows than she could count, four chimneys, and a front door the size of a small truck standing on end. Ivy draped the grey stone walls, and a covered entryway, complete with two authentic-looking Greek columns, framed the door. And off to the side, just in front of the garage, sat an exceptionally clean, old-style Rolls Royce, sparkling in the sunlight. If that didn't scream "I'm rolling in money," she didn't know what did.

Swallowing for the second time, Hermione glanced down at the letter in her hands. She'd read it countless times on the cab ride here, and had served to settle her nerves to a point. Now, as she skimmed over the words she nearly knew by heart, they seemed to make her _more_ anxious.

_Ms. Granger,_

_Thank you for your interest in the advertisement. If you can make yourself available at five o'clock on Sunday, the twenty-first, I will arrange an interview with Mr. Potter._

_ Cordially yours,_

_ N. Longbottom_

When first she read this peculiar response, Hermione had wondered why Mr. Potter himself did not write her. But of course, those with means never spoke (or wrote) for themselves. That was why they had servants, wasn't it? In any case, she was delighted simply to have an interview. It had been hell trying to find a suitable position to pay for herself and Caleb. Having no previous work experience, and having only made it through a year and a half at university, she tended to be of little interest to employers.

This hadn't been the plan, of course. When she started at university, she'd planned to finish her Master's degree in Education, with a minor in Communications. She couldn't remember a time she hadn't wanted to teach. It had been her dream since she knew what a teacher was. And teaching children, or even teenagers, to communicate could only benefit them, and the whole of society. She was eager to make her mark, in a way that only a teacher could.

Marrying Ron Weasley hadn't necessarily been part of the plan, but she'd been more than willing to fit him in. The first four months of their marriage seemed as happy as any, and when she discovered she was pregnant, she was sure Ron would be just as elated. However, his sudden disappearance and insensitive note—"Sorry, love, not ready for this just yet. I'll send you a check in the mail to help with expenses. Good luck."—proved otherwise. And as Ron had been the main provider in their home, she was left with no way to pay rent, unless she used the money her parents had set aside for school.

Unfortunately, the account was only set up to last for the six years it would take her to obtain her degree, and though rent was less expensive than school, by the time Caleb was five, she was out of money. Thus, the frantic job search, culminating in standing before this particular gate.

_You need this_, she reminded herself. _Do it for Caleb_. And with a deep breath, Hermione set her jaw, and pressed the button for the intercom.

"Yes?" a tired, male voice crackled on the other end.

"I am here for an interview," she said with a confidence that belied her true feelings.

"Name?" the voice asked, just as wearily.

"Hermione Granger."

"Oh!" He seemed to perk up instantly. "Wonderful! So glad you could make it! Come right in!"

There was a buzzing noise, and then the gates swung slowly open. Hermione's stomach flipped over as she made her way along the stone walkway toward the front door. Before she had even reached the entryway, the door opened, and a tall, lanky man with dark hair and a kind smile appeared. He was dressed in a crisp white shirt, creased trousers, and a tie hung loosely around his neck. Was this Mr. Potter, or N. Longbottom?

"Ms. Granger!" he beamed. "Delighted to meet you! I'm Neville."

She smiled in return. "Pleased to meet you, as well," she replied, holding out a hand for him to shake. His grip was firm, but somewhat reserved. Hermione guessed Neville must be Neville _Longbottom_. Employers and rich executives tended to be almost obnoxiously confident.

"Well, come in, by all means!" Neville gestured toward the house. "Mr. Potter's in busy in his study at the moment, but he'll be ready for you shortly."

_Knew it_, Hermione mentally congratulated herself. "I'm in no hurry," she assured him, then followed him inside. The sight nearly made her gasp aloud. The house's interior was just as grand as its exterior, albeit a bit less prim and polished. It appeared to be a bit dusty and grimy, as if no one had bothered to clean it in several days. Not that Hermione could say much; her flat was typically a disaster zone. Having a five-year-old son did that. And Hermione reminded herself that there were _two_ children in this house. The advertisement had very specifically stated that, though she did not know their ages.

"Sorry for the state of the place," Neville said. "The last nanny left near a month ago, and I've been the one minding the children. Keep me busy, they do. Haven't had time to tend to my usual duties."

Hermione grew instantly wary. "Why hasn't Mr. Potter hired someone before now?"

"He's tried," Neville said, his voice tired again. "None of them seem to want to stick around long enough. Most just storm out in the middle of the interview. A few have made it through one afternoon, then _they_ storm out."

That certainly didn't bode well. Either the children were utter monsters, or their father was. Whatever the case, Hermione was determined not to back down.

"Well, you can count on me," she said with what she hoped was a confident smile.

Neville's weary expression didn't change. "That's what they all said."

Hermione's heart sank. But before she could make any inquiries, Neville instructed her to wait in a small sitting room, while he went and told Mr. Potter she had arrived. She glanced around the quaint room, brushing her fingers along the mantle. Dusty, of course. Poor Neville. It was bad enough that he was expected to do all the housework, but to add the care of two children to his plate certainly seemed to be taking its toll. Hermione doubted the elusive Mr. Potter would be half as happy to have a nanny to tend the children as Neville would be.

A moment later, Neville reappeared, stating that Mr. Potter was ready. She followed him along the main corridor, passing several smaller corridors and closed doors, stopping at the last. He knocked softly, and a low, sharp voice called, "Come in." He gave Hermione an encouraging smile, then opened the door.

"Ms. Hermione Granger," Neville announced, and Hermione stepped into the room.

It wasn't at all what she'd been expecting. She had expected to see large, ornate bookshelves, filled with dusty, leather-bound volumes, with a globe in one corner, dim lighting, a desk in the center, and a stuffy-looking man seated behind it. What she found instead was a room filled with books, new and old, but also an entire wall of vinyl records, with a record player just in front of a window, looking out into the backyard. The room seemed to hum with life and long-forgotten stories, as if it were telling of the years it had seen. There was a desk, covered with what look like mountains of paperwork and letters, and a laptop in the center. The man at said desk was somewhat a surprise, as well. His raven hair was unkempt, as if he couldn't be bothered to tame it, and his dress was fairly casual—if a dark green polo and khakis could be considered casual. And when he looked up, she was briefly stunned into silence. Not only were his striking emerald eyes the most beautiful she'd ever seen, they were also the coldest.

"Ms. Granger," he greeted her, standing up. "Thank you for coming."

Hermione nodded. "Thank you for the interview."

He gestured toward a chair in front of his desk. "Please, sit." She did so without question, and he sat as well. "Now, I assume you know all about the status of my family, and will be peppering me with questions about it, yes?"

Frowning, Hermione shook her head. "All I know is that you're looking for a nanny, and I'd like the job."

His eyes narrowed. "Really? That's all? No probing inquiries about my children, my home, or my marital status?"

_Yes, thousands_. "None that I can think of."

Those eyes became slits. "You don't have _any_ questions for me at all?"

"Forgive me, Mr. Potter, but as you are the one conducting the interview, I assumed _you_ would be asking _me_ the questions."

In an instant, his eyes were wide as saucers. Hermione mentally berated herself and her perpetually sharp tongue. She'd always had trouble keeping her wit to herself, which was part of the reason it had been so difficult for her to find and keep a job. _This is where he tells me I can see myself out_, she sighed inwardly. However, much to her surprise, Mr. Potter merely cleared his throat, and began interviewing her.

"Right, then. Ms. Granger, what makes you believe that you are qualified to be a nanny to my children?"

This was the easy part. Hermione answered his questions easily, her answers prepared and rehearsed long before she'd even applied for the position. If he was impressed, he didn't let on; his eyes remained cold and cutting. By the end, she was certain he would send her away with only a false promise to call, and a dismissive wave of the hand. But to her surprise, as he concluded the interview, he said, "Can you start tomorrow?"

Hermione felt her jaw drop. "Y-you mean I'm hired?"

"Of course you're hired, why else would I ask that?" he spat rather rudely.

Ignoring his waspish tone, Hermione stood, shaking his hand vigorously. "Thank you _so_ much, Mr. Potter! You won't regret this!"

"You'd better make sure I don't," he growled, then spouted out a list of instructions—or rather, demands. "You're to be here at six every morning, so that you can wake the children in time for school. They will be in school from eight-thirty to three-thirty, Monday through Friday. Every other weekend, they visit their grandfather in Ottery St. Catchpole. You'll need to stay with them, of course, and make sure—"

"Wait, stay with them for the whole weekend?"

Mr. Potter stared, seemingly amazed that she dared interrupt him. "Do you expect me to leave my children unattended?"

"They won't be unattended," she pointed out. "They'll be with their grandfather."

He stood slowly. "Do you honestly expect—"

"And I have my own child to worry about, Mr. Potter," Hermione interjected. "I can't possibly leave _my_ son unattended for an entire weekend."

She could have sworn she could see smoke coming out of his ears. "Very well. You may bring your son along."

"Thank you for giving your permission to care for my child," she deadpanned.

"I'd advise you to keep your tongue in check, Ms. Granger," he snarled. "You are my employee, not my therapist, nor my counselor. You do as I say, not the other way around." He paused, then resumed his previous string of orders. "You will receive a check from me at the end of each month, including the remainder of this month. And you will have Sundays off, barring the weekends you take the children to their grandfather's. Is this acceptable?" he asked, but his scowl seemed to be warning her not to refuse.

"Yes, sir," she answered politely.

His eyes narrowed marginally, but he gave a terse nod, then sat down. "Very well. You may go."

Hermione hesitated. "Erm... Mr. Potter?" He sighed, but met her eyes. "I do have one or two questions of my own."

Mr. Potter's entire frame tensed. "My personal life is none of your business, Ms. Granger. And I thought you said you _didn't_ have any questions."

"I don't care two pennies about your personal life," she scoffed, and he blinked, clearly stunned. She pressed on, "but I do have questions concerning my employment. Firstly, when might I have the pleasure of meet the children I'm meant to be looking after?"

A muscle in his jaw twitched briefly, but he appeared far more relaxed than a moment ago. "You will meet them tomorrow morning."

Hermione nodded. "All right. Secondly, do you happen to have a piano?"

"What the devil do you want with a piano?"

"Well, considering it is a musical instrument, one can safely assume that one motive would be to _play_ said instrument."

"What did I say about holding your tongue, Ms. Granger?"

She did not apologize, but she bit back the retort that popped into her head at his words (with some effort). "So, do you have a piano?"

Mr. Potter sighed again. "Upstairs in the gallery. It might be in need of tuning. No one's played it since... well, a number of years," he amended his phrase, his eyes tightening.

"Oh, I know how to tune it," she assured him. "That won't be a problem."

He eyed her carefully, then gave a dismissive shrug. "It's all yours, then. Just don't interrupt the children's studies, or my work."

"I won't."

Hermione was beginning to feel unnerved by how much this man stared at her. And the look he gave her… it was as if she were a puzzle he couldn't figure out. She didn't like it. She wasn't sure she liked _him_. But at least he was willing to give her a job. That was all that mattered.

"Until tomorrow, then," he dismissed her again. This time, Hermione remained silent, and with a quick nod of the head, left the study. Neville was waiting in the sitting room, and stood when she entered.

"How'd it go?" he asked eagerly, as if he were a close friend. Hermione couldn't help but smile at him, and that smile seemed to say enough. He heaved a sigh, and some of his tension eased. "He hired you. Good. One hurdle down, another to go."

She frowned at him. "Are the children truly so terrible?"

He gnawed on his lip for a moment. "They're… lively."

Hermione's heart sank momentarily, but she refused to let it sink further. "I can handle lively."

"I hope you can," Neville warned, "because if there is even a _hint_ of unhappiness from either of those children, you'll be packing your bags."

"I haven't got any bags," Hermione protested weakly.

"You know what I mean," Neville said firmly.

She nodded. "Well… I'll just bring sweets for the children and keep my mouth shut, will I?"

The corner of Neville's mouth twitched, then a full smile stretched across his face. He was quite a handsome man, now she took a closer look at him. He was clearly a gentle sort of man, clearly well-mannered and well-groomed, and must have had some education, though perhaps he, like her, was unable to finish. Of course, this was an assumption, and she'd do well to learn the truth from his own mouth, but based on what she could see, she instantly liked Neville Longbottom.

"You know," he said, and she snapped back to attention, "I think you might just be exactly the kind of person this family needs. I wish you luck."

Humbled, Hermione could only smile and blush, as Neville escorted her out. Once outside, it took all her self-control not to perform a happy-dance right there on the porch. She refrained (but only just), and pulled out her mobile phone to make two phone calls—one to call a cab, and the other to the most important person in her life.

"Great news, Caleb," she said when her favorite voice answered the phone. "Mummy has a job."

* * *

A/N: Ahh, a tale as old as time. Dad hires nanny, nanny straightens out family, dad falls for nanny, and chaos ensues. It's been told so many times, it's almost dull. But that's okay, because I like dull, predictable love stories. Please review!


	2. Day One

Harry gazed out the window of his study, without really seeing. He vaguely registered that it was raining—no shock there—but beyond that, his mind comprehended nothing. He often lost himself this way, since… well, better not to think about it. Better to just remain lost.

The sound of a throat being cleared caught his attention, and he turned to see Neville standing in the doorway. "Your nanny has arrived, sir."

"Thank you, Neville. I'll be out shortly."

Harry took several steadying breaths, before ultimately leaving the study to greet Ms. Granger. Neville had already woken the children, and they were descending the stairs as he entered. Harry watched as they came to a stop in front of their new nanny.

"James, Violet, this is Ms. Hermione Granger, your new nanny. Nanny, this is James and Violet Potter."

The woman's eyes were bright as she greeted them. "I'm very pleased to meet you."

"You're awfully pretty," Violet said boldly. Harry's eyes slid to the woman in question, and frowned. She certainly was pretty. _Too_ pretty. Her features were soft and delicate; her cheeks were rosy, her brown eyes sparkled with life, and her caramel hair had been swept into a very business-like bun at the back of her head. A few strands had come loose around her face, framing it nicely and adding softness and youthfulness. Yes, she was very pretty indeed. And it bothered him.

Ms. Granger smiled humbly. "Thank you, Violet. I think you're awfully pretty, too." She turned to his son, who was, unsurprisingly, scowling at the floor. Harry sighed inwardly. James had been surly and uncooperative since… well, for a number of months. Harry was at his wit's end trying to figure out what to do about it. He'd hoped a woman's influence would be helpful, which was part of the reason he'd begun seeking out a nanny for the children. But with each attempt, his mood only seemed to worsen, along with his behavior.

This instance, it appeared, would be no different. He watched James as Ms. Granger held out a hand for him to shake. James glared at the hand, then into the face of his nanny, and then he very pointedly stomped off in the direction of the front door. Harry sighed. Nothing had changed.

"He's always like that," Neville assured her. "You get used to it."

Ms. Granger cleared her throat. "Well. I suppose I'll be off, better get the children to school. I, er, don't have my own car, unfortunately—"

Harry took this as his cue to step in. "Ms. Granger," he greeted her.

"Mr. Potter," she nodded. "I was just about to take the children to school, but… well, I don't have a car, and I thought perhaps I ought to check with you before taking a cab."

"No need," he stated, stepping further into the entryway. On a bulletin board near the doorway, a set of small hooks house the keys to his three cars: the Rolls Royce, a modest Volvo, and a Ford Anglia—it no longer ran, but it had been his first car, and he'd never been able to get rid of it. On a fourth hook hung the keys to Neville's car, which he believed was a Prius. Harry retrieved the keys to the Volvo, and held them out to Ms. Granger. "It's parked in the garage, should have been topped off yesterday."

She shook her head. "Oh, sir, I couldn't possibly—"

"If the alternative is taking a cab, then I would certainly prefer you to drive my car."

Her eyes flashed, but she took it without further protest. It was at that moment that Harry noticed an attachment to her person, in the form of a small boy with red hair. Harry's brow furrowed, and his eyes flicked up to hers.

"Is this your son?" he asked, curious.

Her shoulders squared. "Yes, he is. I have to take him to school, as well. But don't fret," she added in a voice that reeked of sarcasm. "His school starts later and ends earlier than your children's, so I can safely promise it will not interfere with their schedule, or yours."

Harry remained silent, stunned at the outburst. It might have been treated as nothing more than giving information, were it not for her acerbic and defensive tone, not to mention the cutting look in her eyes. Regrettably, Harry had a temper that could not be vouched for, and the moment she'd finished her little speech, that temper flared.

"For your information, Ms. Granger, I was merely asking, not mounting an assault."

Without another word, Harry stormed out of the house. He sped on his way to the office, his mind racing. How dare this woman talk back to him? After all, he was her _employer_. He was _paying_ here. Did that not deserve some respect? The nerve of her!

Harry remained in a foul mood all day, barely registering the requests and messages from his secretary, and hardly paying attention in the many meetings he attended. He stayed late to finish the work he'd neglected, not leaving for home until nearly 8:00. As it was early September, there was still a bit of daylight by the time he left. As he drove home, he came to the decision that he needed to have a talk with Ms. Granger.

As soon as Harry stepped out of the car, he knew something was different. He could hear laughter and shouting coming from the yard. He made his way quickly through the house, stopping when he saw Neville looking out the back window to the yard, a smile on his face.

"Neville?"

"Oh, hello, Mr. Potter," he smiled. How was work?"

"Fine," he replied dismissively. "Where is Ms. Granger? I need to speak with her."

He gestured to the window with a grin. Harry cautiously stepped in line beside him, and peered out. He was surprised to find Violet chasing the boy he now knew as Ms. Granger's son around the yard. They both laughed at the chase, even as Violet caught hold of the boy's arm, and then he turned around and chased her. Harry watched silently for a moment, then ventured out into the yard himself. He spotted Ms. Granger in one of the lawn chairs, a book propped open in her lap. She glanced up at the children, smiled, and then her eyes returned to the book. Her hair, which he remembered had been pulled back this morning, now hung loose about her shoulders, and her shoes had been discarded to the right of the chair. The fading sunlight caught her hair, making it glisten.

Once again, Harry was struck by how inappropriately lovely she was. He would really have to be careful about being seen with her in public. People talked, after all, and often inadvertently jumped to the wrong conclusions. The thought rankled; he was already the hot topic among gossipers. No need to add fuel to the flames. He would have to tread _very_ carefully.

Harry cleared his throat, thereby making his presence known. Ms. Granger looked up at him, but before he could invite her to his study, a childlike voice called out, "Daddy!" Harry smiled at Violet as she raced toward him. "Come and play with us!"

"Not right now, Vi," he said gently. "I need to speak with Ms. Granger. Perhaps later."

Violet's face fell. "You always say that," she mumbled, but in moments was back to running about with Ms. Granger's son. Harry was startled, but regained his composure as Ms. Granger came to stand beside him. He cleared his throat again.

"If you'll follow me, please," he requested. They passed Neville as they entered the house, and Harry asked, "Would you mind keeping an eye on the children?"

"Of course, sir," Neville smiled, immediately joining them outside. Harry led Ms. Granger to his study, opening the door for her and ushering her inside. He gestured to a chair, and waited until she was seated before sitting himself. He took a moment before speaking, feeling acutely uncomfortable. This was not going to be a pleasant discussion, but he felt strongly it was one that needed to be had.

"Ms. Granger," he began, "I don't know what sort of villain you think I am—"

"Sorry? When did I say you were a villain?"

"_Ms. Granger,_" he said in a warning tone at her interruption. She stopped, her cheeks taking on a pinkish tinge, but remained silent. "Your outburst this morning was entirely out of line. I am _not_ a villain, and I don't care to be treated as such. See that it doesn't happen again."

Her shoulders tensed, as if she was exercising a great deal of effort not to slap him. "Yes, sir."

Harry watched the emotions flicker across her eyes. Indignation, but also remorse, and he thought he could also see a hint of worry. Worry for her job? She needn't be concerned. As of yet, he had not found any real reason to fire her. Perhaps it was best he vocalize that.

"You may see to the children, now."

The reaction he had expected was not the reaction he saw in her face. The worry was downplayed, yes, but its place was usurped by an obvious increase in outrage. Her lips thinned as she gnawed on them for a bit. "Yes, sir," she muttered through grit teeth.

Harry frowned. "You're angry," he observed.

"Whatever gave me away?" she snarled.

"Ms. Granger—"

"If I may, sir," she interrupted _again_, this time not backing down. "I find it highly infuriating and irregular that you bring me in here to chastise me for defending my choice of bringing my son. If I had another option, if he had any friends or relatives that could care for him, they would. As it is, his only living family is God knows where, or doesn't care about him enough to do a damn thing. Except my mother, who is overworked as it is. And then, to top it off, after you've finished chastising me, you dismiss me as if you were the king, and I, humble servant, can do nothing but bow and submit. If that's not reason enough for anger, I don't know what is. I understand you are paying me to do a service, and I am grateful, but if you ask me to put my own child and my own conscience at risk, I'm afraid I will have to resign."

Harry stared in awe at the woman before him. Her hair seemed to have grown wilder, and her face was flushed as her eyes burned with fury and determination. Despite himself, Harry actually felt more than a little intimidated. And as the entirety of her speech began to sink in, he felt heartily ashamed of himself. Had he really given the impression that she was not allowed to care for her child?

Clearing his throat, Harry folded his hands on the desk. "I am sorry if I have given you any cause to believe that your son would not be welcome here, or that you would not be free to see to his needs. As a parent, I know children are the first priority."

"Do you?"

Harry's eyes widened, and his anger flared. "I beg your pardon?"

She bit her lip again, clearly embarrassed. "I… I didn't meant to say that."

"But you _did_ say it," he pointed out. "What did you mean by it?"

"It's… not important."

"I'll be the judge of that," he ground out, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. "What did you mean?"

She sighed. "Well, sir… only moments ago, your daughter asked you to play with her. Your response was a halfhearted, 'Perhaps later.'" She lowered her voice to mimic his, then grew serious. "What message do you think that sends to her about where she sits on your list of priorities?"

"How dare you—!"

"Furthermore," she went on, "when we arrived back here today, James went stomping up to his room with hardly a word. When I tried to tell him you would want to see him when you arrived home, he said, 'No, he won't. He doesn't care.'"

Her words were like a physical blow to the heart. He tried to speak, to defend himself, but no words would come. How could he defend that? Suddenly feeling more emotional than he cared to display, he stood and walked to the window. "Thank you for your services today, Ms. Granger. If you would, please, prepare the children for bed. I will see you tomorrow morning."

"Sir—"

"Tomorrow morning," he repeated with finality, refusing to look at her. After a moment of silence, he heard her retreating footsteps, followed by the closing of the door.

Harry stayed in the same spot for… he didn't know how long. The sky darkened, the outdoor lights were soon lit, and the house grew still. He barely noticed. His attention was caught, eventually, by the sound of his door opening. Some part of him wondered, briefly, if it would be Ms. Granger, but the likelihood of that was slim. He'd made it clear he did not want to speak with her the rest of the evening. Not that his insistence would have deterred her, should she have something pressing to say. _Infuriating woman_.

"Sir?" Neville's voice interrupted his thoughts.

Harry turned to his faithful butler and friend. "Am I a good father, Neville?"

His brow furrowed in question. "Why do you ask?"

The lack of a straight answer clearly told Harry what he needed to know. With a sigh, Harry ran a hand over his face. "I'm not, am I? I'm selfish, distant, and a tyrant."

"You're not a tyrant, sir."

Harry didn't miss the fact that Neville did not contradict the other two faults. "But I am selfish and distant?"

Neville hesitated for a moment. "You've been deeply hurt, sir. It's natural that you would want some time alone, to process, or to regroup."

Sighing again, Harry sat behind his desk. "I'm not sure what to do here, Neville. My children think I don't care about them."

"I'm sure that's not true."

He lifted an eyebrow. "It is according to Ms. Granger."

Neville frowned. "Well, I don't like to discredit the word of a lady, but really, she's only known them for one day. Perhaps she misunderstood, and made some hasty judgments."

It was an encouraging thought, and one that Harry wished, rather than believed, to be the truth. Heart too heavy and mind too full for such conversation, Harry dismissed Neville, and returned to the window. Nothing could be done tonight, even if it truly needed doing. He would simply have to wait for the morning.

* * *

A/N: Not the greatest chapter ending, but I loved writing Hermione's rant. Such fun! So who do you think is mom? And what do you think happened with her? Please share! I may or may not let you know if you're right. Probably not. But I still like reading your guesses and your opinions. _PLEASE_ review!


	3. An Unwelcome Surprise

_34 HOURS AGO_

The sky seemed brighter as Hermione walked up to her flat. She had a job now, and soon she would see her son again. But she stopped dead in her tracks when she entered. She had intended to change into trousers and a T-shirt before picking Caleb up from his grandmother's house. (The constricting propriety of the pencil skirt and prim Oxford blouse she'd worn to her interview was stifling, and she was ready to drab down.) But the sight of her ex-husband made her forget herself.

"R-Ron?"

The redhead didn't respond. In fact, he wasn't even conscious. He was sprawled out over her couch, an empty bottle of Scotch on the floor beside him. The place reeked of alcohol, and she wondered how much he'd had, and how long he'd been there. Panicked, Hermione fished her mobile phone out of her handbag, and dialed her mother's phone.

"Hello," Jane Granger answered cheerfully.

"Mum," she said in a quiet voice. "I've got a problem."

"What's wrong, sweetheart?"

Hermione hesitated, glancing at the offending body on the couch. "Ron's here."

There was silence on the other end. "Call the police."

"I plan to." She paused, feeling more and more anxious. "What could he possibly want?"

Jane sighed. "I don't know, dear, but I think you'd be better off phoning the police, _then_ interrogating him. Just in case he doesn't respond well."

"You're probably right," she agreed. "I'll phone them in just a moment. Can you…" she trailed off, her throat suddenly thickening. "Can you keep Caleb there? I don't want him to see Ron."

"I'll tell him it's a surprise sleepover," Jane added, her voice smiling. "He won't suspect a thing. You just come pick him up whenever you need to in the morning."

"Thank you," she breathed a sigh of relief. "Bye, Mum."

Once she hung up the phone, Hermione dialed the Met, asking for someone to come to her flat. It was less than ten minutes before she heard a knock on the door. She welcomed Sergeant Brown into her flat, gesturing to the still-sleeping form of her ex-husband.

"I don't know how long he's been here," she whispered. "I'm not even quite sure how he found the spare key. I keep it hidden in a safe place."

"Where?" he asked. Hermione pointed to a ceramic frog, whose mouth was usually filled with a sponge, which hid the key from those with criminal intent. Now, of course, the sponge was resting _next to_ the frog, and the key seemed to be missing. She would have to find it later.

"If it's all right, Sergeant Brown," she began, "I'd really like to talk to him for a bit. But he's not very accepting of authority. I can't say for certain he'll even talk to me, but the likelihood of that is far greater than if you were to be there while I tried."

He frowned. "Ma'am, I can't leave you with him—"

"No, that's not what I'm asking," she insisted. "All I'm asking is that you… hide… essentially. Perhaps just in the loo. I'll call for you when I've finished, or if things seem to be taking a turn for the worse, you can jump right in."

Sergeant Brown gave a resigned sigh, and retreated into the loo. The door was open, but Ron would never know of his presence, until he chose to make himself known. Taking a deep breath, Hermione walked up to the lout on the sofa, and prodded his shoulder.

"Ronald, wake up," she snapped.

"Unnng," was his only response.

"_Ron!_"

At her shout, he started awake, then gave a pained groan, squeezing his eyes shut and putting a hand to his head. "Blimey, my head," he mumbled. "Why d'you have to shout?"

"_I'll_ be asking the questions, Ronald Weasley. What the hell are you doing here?"

"Hello to you, too."

"Bugger off," she snarled. "You have no right to come barging into my flat—breaking and entering, by the way, is against the law—and taking up space on my sofa. You're bloody lucky Caleb is at my mum's house tonight, and won't have to see the pathetic arse that supplied half his DNA!"

Ron frowned at her. "Caleb?"

"Your _son_," Hermione seethed. "The one you abandoned. Ring any bells?"

He sighed. "Look, Herms—"

"Don't call me that. And don't interrupt. I'm not finished with you." He blinked once, but stayed silent, and Hermione continued. "You're a selfish, low-life pig, and I'm ashamed of you. You'd better hope to hell Caleb never finds out you were here. I don't want you anywhere near him. You made the decision five years ago to remove yourself from his life. You don't get to change your mind. I'll take you to bloody court and sue your arse before I let that happen." She paused, scowling at him. "Now get. Out."

"Hermione—"

"Sergeant!" she yelled, and right on cue, Sergeant Brown appeared. He calmly pulled out a pair of handcuffs and, ignoring Ron's protests, arrested him for the crime of breaking and entering. Hermione slumped onto one of the kitchen chair as soon as they were gone. The tears came unbidden, and didn't stop until she'd crawled into bed, still fully clothed, and fallen asleep.

* * *

_PRESENT_

"Day two," Hermione muttered dryly to herself as she stepped out of the cab, walking purposefully toward the front door. She had learned yesterday not to wear heels, even sensible ones, thanks to the uneven gravel drive in front of the house. Today, her modest flats never once got stuck, nor made her lose her balance. She reached the door without injury to her person or her pride. Before ringing the doorbell, she took a moment to smooth her grey pencil skirt, and checked her hair, which had painstakingly been twisted into a simple knot at the back of her head. She had even taken care to pin back the flyaways that tended to come free within minutes. When she was finally satisfied, she pressed the button, listening to the muted ringing of the bell.

Neville answered with a smile. "Good morning, Hermione! You're here early!"

She heaved a mental sigh as she entered the house; yes, she had arrived absurdly early—5:30 in the morning, to be exact—to ensure that she could speak with Mr. Potter before having to wake the children. She wished it wasn't necessary, but after the events of yesterday… she was concerned about her job. _Damn Ron_, she thought for the hundredth time in the space of two days.

"Good morning, Neville," she beamed in return. "I know, it's early, but I was wondering if I might have a word with Mr. Potter, before I'm too enthralled with his children."

Neville frowned. "Well, he's probably still asleep, but I can check, just to be sure. If he is asleep, I wouldn't dare wake him up."

Hermione fought back a laugh. "I understand. But I'd appreciate it if you would check."

"Of course," he nodded. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll be back in a moment."

As Neville disappeared up the stairs, Hermione ambled into the living room. It was unnervingly quiet in the house, though it hadn't exactly been noisy before. Apart from the racket of Violet's and Caleb's playtime in the yard, the family and the household seemed almost afraid to make much noise. _Pity_, she thought, and was just about to hatch a plan to fix that, when she heard footsteps. She turned around to see Mr. Potter enter the room, dressed in attire similar to what he had worn in her interview. The deep burgundy Oxford shirt, paired with creased khakis, made her wonder if the man actually knew how to dress casually. If he knew how to do _anything_ casually. Then again, she supposed casualness was looked down on by the rich and famous.

"Good morning, Ms. Granger," he said with the briefest of smiles, bringing her out of her reverie.

"Good morning, sir," she greeted in kind. "I'd like to speak with you, if I may."

His eyes widened in surprise, but he nodded his consent, and Hermione followed him to what was fast becoming her least favorite room in the house. As she sat in front of his desk yet again, facing her employer, she mentally ran through her piece once again. She had to take care not to say anything wrong, lest it cost her this job.

"I would like you to know that I've arranged for my mother to take Caleb to school in the mornings. I will still have to pick him up after, and if it's all right with you, it really would be best for me to bring him here. But if you disapprove, I'll see about making other arrangements."

He seemed taken aback by her formality. Hermione had been practicing it all night, and most of the morning. It was her hope that, the more professional she looked and acted, the more he would trust her, and the less likely he would be to fire her. It was business, after all. The only thing this man wanted from her was for her to complete her job adequately, and if she couldn't do that, she would no longer _have_ a job. Personal feelings and schedules needed to be set aside.

However, it was _her_ turn to be surprised when he said, "Oh, there's no need for that. He's welcome at any time."

Hermione frowned. "Thank you."

"Violet seems particularly fond of him. I don't know that she has very many close friends. I've not heard that she has any problems with her classmates, but she never mentions friends, either. It's good that she has someone, now." His voice trailed off at the end, and his expression grew pensive. Hermione decided this was likely _not _the best time to mention Violet's friend Susan. It would only make him miserable.

"I'm glad he is welcome," she said, uncertain of how else to respond.

He smiled, and again, it was so fleeting, she almost wondered if she'd imagined it. "I apologize for any offense I might have caused you, Ms. Granger."

The appropriate response would have been, "No offense taken," with a polite, subservient smile. But even with this new businesslike attitude and appearance, Hermione couldn't bring herself to do it. Instead, she offered a tiny, forced smile, and replied simply, "Apology accepted."

Mr. Potter observed her for a moment, and Hermione met his gaze unflinchingly. _Those eyes_, she mused. So lovely, yet so cold. So full of anguish. Something terrible must have happened. Perhaps it had something to do with his ex-wife. She could certainly empathize. Caleb's deadbeat father hadn't once shown his face since she announced her pregnancy. Until Sunday night, that is… _no, don't think about it now. Can't have you blowing up again_.

"By the way," Mr. Potter's voice startled her from her train of thought, "you needn't dress and act quite so formally. I'm not going to fire you for wearing trousers."

Hermione couldn't help it; she laughed. The combination of his joke, her surprise that he had _made_ a joke, and the irony that moments ago she'd mentally accused _him_ of being too formal, seemed funnier than it should have been. She laughed long and loud, but managed to stop just before she could embarrass herself. When she met Mr. Potter's eyes again, they were narrowed. At first she worried she _had_ embarrassed herself, but she realized his eyes were curious, rather than disapproving. And then, they were almost searching. It was rather uncomfortable.

"Well, I suppose I ought to go and wake the children," she excused herself. "Thank you, Mr. Potter."

As she stood, he followed suit. He looked as if he were debating with himself for a moment, then he said, "Why don't you call me Harry? Since you'll be getting to know my children so well, I think it's only right that we get to know one another better, as well."

This man was absolutely full of surprises today. She would have to rescind her previous accusations of his stiffness. "In that case, perhaps you can call me Hermione?"

Another smile, and this time, it lingered. "If that's what you wish… Hermione."

Something about the way her name rolled off his tongue, in a rippling baritone, gave her a sudden chill. She didn't like it one bit. Swallowing thickly, Hermione gave a pointed nod, and turned to leave. _Perhaps I shouldn't have given him permission to use my first name_, she wondered, but it was pointless to worry. It was too late to take the words back now. She supposed she would just have to get used to it. Or ignore it. Either way, it was safer than dwelling on it.

Steeling herself, Hermione made her way up the stairs. _Into battle_, she thought with a wry smile.

* * *

A/N: There have been a number of review about Hermione's attitude. Some have said they are stunned she hasn't already been fired. Others applaud her, and can't wait to see more of her snarky comebacks. Please know that I'm not doing anything lightly here. I have an actual plan with this story, and almost every detail has been meticulously laid out. Some things may change, but there is a method to my madness. I promise. That being said, I do appreciate your opinions and comments. Please review!


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